Carrie In the Sun
The sun blasts us as we trudge up the hill. Midges buzz in an annoying cloud, and the thick, dew-wet weeds leave sparkling beads of water on our legs. The beads of water collect and combine, to trickle down my thighs and calves in small runnels, cooling my sweating legs. The heat of the sun brings a light mist of sweat to the rest of my body. My thin shirt sticks to my skin, and I've unbuttoned it, unsnapped the front-clasp bra to free my breasts. I feel the sweat between my heavy breasts as it joins and forms slow trickles of coolness that slide down my tanned belly, to soak into the waistband of my cotton shorts. I'm bathed in heat and sunlight and shadow, sweat and dew, a primordial soup that makes my nipples rise and pout. As I climb the hill, the crotch of my tight shorts presses against my clit with each rise of my legs, sending trills of sweet delight through my body.
I hold my lover's hand, grasp it tightly. He walks in front of me on the narrow woods trail, his arm almost perpendicular behind his back as he pulls and tugs me up the hill with him. His long, light brown hair is plastered to the middle of his sweaty back, while the soft tendrils on each side airily float in the slipstream his body carves in the air on our uphill trek. Sometimes a small wisp catches for a moment on an intruding branch. When he tugs it free, the branch sends a small shower of cooling dew into my face as it whips backwards. I live for those moments. I'm fascinated by his hair, by the way it floats towards me as we walk; the soft tendrils are alive, teasing me, calling me forward. I watch his hair, rather than where we're going.
Our joined hands are slippery and it requires a conscious effort to keep contact with each other, a contact we're both hungry for. Neither of us loosens our hands, although it would be easier to climb unencumbered. I like the feel of his hand in mine, remembering the way his hands have caressed my face, my body, my breasts, my pussy. A shudder of desire rushes across my skin, forming goosebumps, as I anticipate his hands wiping away the sweat from my aching body when we get to the top of the hill.
We reach a sharp upward turn in the trail, and Harold lets go of my hand, so he can climb across the log and onto the wide boulder that blocks the trail. Once up, he turns to face me and offers me both his hands. I grasp them, hike my leg so high my knee hits my chest, and thrust downward on the log while he hauls me up. I stop to gain my footing on the log, and look upward at him, where he stands on the boulder. He grins through his beard. I grin back, and place my foot on the boulder while he hauls me up to his level. I fall against him, laughing, and wrap my arms around his waist. He buries his face in my cleavage, his hands grasp my round asscheeks as he pulls me to him, lifting my feet off the ground. He lets out a mock bear growl, and slides his face quickly from side to side on my sweaty breasts; his tongue and beard wipe up the moisture. His beard tickles, and I scream with laughter, head thrown back, breasts thrust forward. He leans backwards against the boulder, pulling me against him. I wrap my thighs around his leg, melding as much of my body to his as I can, despite the heat and sweat. Against my thigh, I feel his cock rising up hard and strong in his cutoffs.
He holds me still for a moment, stares directly into my eyes, still grinning. The look in his eyes has a sudden intensity. It electrifies me, makes the light downy hairs on the back of my neck rise up; sends goosebumps of desire running across my skin like small, fierce brushfires. Sunlight flickers and sparks through the leaves overhead; patches of light and shadow travel across my skin, chasing the goosebumps, as the wind picks up in the trees. A small, involuntary "uhn" escapes from deep within my throat as I close my eyes and lean forward, aching to be kissed. I feel his lips lightly, delicately caress mine. The tip of his tongue flickers against my parting lips; his beard and mustache tickle my cheeks and chin, and he pulls away. Disappointed, I open my eyes, breathing heavily. He pushes me gently away, takes my hand again. Still grinning, he jerks his head over his right shoulder, towards the remainder of the trail. He turns to go, pulling me with him. I follow.
The trail becomes rockier, steeper, and the thick weeds thin out to grass and clover. We are almost at the top. The woods turn to meadow and we come out into full sunlight and gently rolling grasslands. A barbedwire fence blocks the way and the trail angles to the left to avoid it. The fence guards a field of deep green clover, thickly starred with sweet smelling white clover flowers. An undercurrent of buzzing is almost subliminal as honeybees flit across the field, heavy with their burden of pollen and nectar. The sun pours down onto the field with incredible intensity. The clover flowers are so starkly white in the sunlight I have to squint to look at them.
Harold places his foot on the bottom wire of the fence, and pulls the next wire up, forming a tunnel for me to cross. I crouch down and scramble through. It's his turn, and I separate the wires for him. As he crosses, I deliberately let go of the wire, laughing. Now his jeans are caught on the wire, the top wire catches on his butt, and the bottom wire catches his crotch. "Hey!", he yells, stuck, on his knees. "Next time I need to be kissed, you kiss me, boy!", I say with a wicked grin as I turn to run into the meadow. "Hey! You aren't going to leave me here, are you?" he says. "Yup, sure am!" I cry over my shoulder.
I run into the middle of the field, stirring up bees and tiny, delicate white butterflies from the thick flowers. The butterflies rise in a cloud around my head, brush against my face, and catching the breeze, are gone. As I run, my blouse peels off and I let it go, let it flutter from my fingers for a moment before loosing it to the breeze. I stop and take off my bra, kick off my shoes, dig my toes deeply into the cool, wet clover, the slightly damp earth. I hold my arms out and begin to spin and whirl, a pagan dance to the heat, the sun, the bees, the flowers. I'm dizzy, drunk with life and sun and summer, drunk with love, drunk with lust. The sun has ceased its mad whirl through the cosmos, and the earth no longer spins around the sun. Now the sun spins around me, follows me, anoints me, and my pattering feet are what cause the earth to spin on its axis. Laughing, I fall to my knees, prop myself up with my hands, so dizzy that the earth still spins beneath me. I fall to my side, and roll over onto my back, crushing the cool clover beneath me. My heavy breasts, with their hardened, pouting nipples, fall to either side, exposed to the hot sun. I peel off my shorts and lie spread-eagled, caressed by the sun, fucked by sun, my ass and my cunt exposed between my wide-spread legs.
I rise up and my breasts slide easily against my chest, lubed by my sweat. Below me, I can see the river, sparkling into a thousand diamond shards of sunlight. Only the shrill laughter of children playing can be heard from the campground below, joined by the high, sweet cries of red-winged blackbirds in the summer trees. I look but I can't see the fence, or Harold. I roll over on my stomach and begin to weave crowns of white clover flowers, letting the sun and wind play with my ass. I hum softly to myself, plying the green strands and sweet white flowers. My bare pussy is pressed against the earth. It throbs and swells as I spread my legs wide and begin to gently hump against the warm earth, imagining my lover is beneath me. I squiggle my breasts against the earth, digging tiny holes for my swelling, aching nipples. Beneath its surface heat, the earth is cool.
There is a preternatural stillness as the wind dies down. The birds have become silent, and the bees have stopped their soporific droning. In the distance, there is a deep rumble of thunder, so far away that I feel it through the earth rather than hear it. The wind picks up, bringing a welcome coolness and the smell of rain. I roll onto my back again, place the crowns of flowers on my head and one on each breast, tweak the swollen nipples. I spread my legs to the sun and the wind, and reach a hand down to caress my smooth-shaven mound, sneak a finger into my wet slit to flick against my clit.
I close my eyes, lost in the sensations...the growing intensity of arousal, the heat of the sunlight on my skin, the cooling caress of the wind drying my sweaty body. The heated scent of my swelling pussy mingles with the sweet smell of clover and damp earth, the scent of the on-coming rains. I hear swishing sounds by my head, and the sunlight is suddenly blocked. I look up. Harold stands over me, naked, his swollen cock in his hand as he strokes it gently. The head gleams redly, engorged. The silver ring in its pierced end sparkles in the sun with each stroke. He steps over me, straddles my waist, still stroking his cock. Fascinated, I watch as a drop of pre-cum glistens in the sunlight on the edge of his cock, trickles down the ring, stands poised on the ring's edge before dropping to join the sweat between my breasts. The drop is like oil spread on water, sending shock waves of intense desire through me. My fingers part my swollen labia, begin to work themselves deeper into my wet cunt. They squish in and out, hungrily. My juices join my sweat to run down the crack of my ass.
My lover steps back, places his feet between my legs. Sharply, he kicks my legs apart, exposing my pussy and my busy fingers to him. My heavy breasts jiggle with the movement. As he strokes his sweet cock, my sticky hands travel upwards to my breasts. I caress them, tease and tug at the flower-clad nipples, bring the nipples to high, puckered points. He watches me, continuing to stroke his swollen cock. My hips begin to rise upwards in time to his strokes, as though I were already fucking him. In the distance, thunder rumbles again, louder, coming closer. The wind lashes the trees, clouds race across the sky, hiding the sun.
Harold falls to his knees, between my thighs. I reach up, remove the flower garlands from my breasts, and place them on his head. He is my lover, my Bacchus, my satyr, with his long hair and beard blowing in the wind, his rampant cock swinging between his legs. His long silken hair hangs down on either side of his face. The ends trace patterns in the sweat glistening on my chest and breasts, becoming dark and heavy with their burden of moisture. I'm alive with desire. The small downy hairs on my skin are electrified by the ozone of the on-coming storm. My aching pussy opens and closes hungrily, like a fish gasping for air. He guides his cock to my swollen pussy, the ring on the end parts the lips. He stops, leaving the ring and the head of his cock just inside my pussy. He leans forward and begins to gently nip and kiss my swollen nipples. I thrust my hips forward, hard, impaling myself on his hard, glistening cock. As he enters me with one quick, deep, delicious thrust, the heavens open and the rains come, borne on the edge of the wind.
We are soaked, drenched in warmth and wetness, our bodies slapping against each other, slippery with rain, covered with grass and flowers and sweat. I begin to cum. Hard, hot spasms travel outward from my cunt. Explosions of ecstasy smash into my body so hard I rise up from the ground. I cry out, but my voice is lost in the rolling thunder, borne away on the gusting wind, drowned in heavy patters of warm summer rains. I cling to my lover while the rains pour across us. My orgasm shudders and jerks through my body, leaving me spent and panting, lost to the wind, to the rain, to the sweet smell of his skin, the clover, the earthy wet smell of the ground, the heated scent of my cunt and his cum rising from between our legs.